The Last of the Fellowship
by Nimloth
Summary: Legolas receives a message from the Undying Lands, and pays a last visit to the dying King Elessar, before he accompanies Queen Arwen to Lorien and from there goes on to the Glittering Caves of Aglarond.
1. The Cry of the Seagull

I previously posted this story on another site, but I wanted to see if I could share it with some more Tolkien fans this way - reviews appreciated !!!  
  
I always wanted to hear more about what happened to Gimli and Legolas, and Aragorn and Arwen, after the ending of "The Return of the King". I tried to respect the spirit of the book, and not err too much in distances and timing. The characters (or most of them), places and dates are taken from Prof. Tolkien's writings; their encounters and adventures are my own invention and intellectual property.  
  
On a final note, pardon my Elvish - it's very rudimentary, so please don't take me apart if there are too many mistakes .  
The Last of the Fellowship  
  
I - The Cry of the Seagull  
  
It was the dawn of an early autumn day in the Year 120 of the Fourth Age, the year 1541 of Shire reckoning. The sun sent his first, tentative rays across the mountain range once known as Ephel Dúath, the Mountains of Shadow, which now bore the name of Ered Lain, Free Mountains. Gradually, the grey mists of the early morning dissolved, revealing the gentle beauty of South Ithilien as it lay stretched out between the mountains and the meandering river far below.  
  
On a hillside, a group of young trees swayed slightly to and fro in the cool morning breeze. Only one of the willowy silhouettes did not move but stood perfectly still. It was a tall elf, watching the sunrise from clear blue eyes as the wind gently played with his long flaxen hair. His slim figure was clad in garments of silvery green, simple in their elegance, which did not reveal anything about his status. Yet there was an air about him that would have set him apart from his surroundings anywhere. It was a mixture of cheerfulness and sadness in his eyes, eyes which had seen terrors that few of his fair kindred had had to face. This was Legolas, son of King Thranduil of the woodland realm of Mirkwood, which had been given its old name of Eryn Lasgalen, Greenwood, again after the fall of the Dark Lord Sauron.  
  
When Aragorn son of Arathorn had ascended the throne of Gondor and had been crowned as King Elessar, Legolas, one of the legendary Fellowship of the Ring, had brought a fair number of his kindred from Greenwood to South Ithilien which, under their gentle care, had become once again the fairest country of the west-lands. Long and lovingly the elves had laboured to restore the ravaged country to its former beauty, healing the wounds that the long years of Sauron's terror had inflicted upon every living thing.  
  
The elves were respected throughout the realm of Elessar; yet the old King had long since outlived all the men who had fought alongside him on the Field of Cormallen, and the common knowledge of races other than that of mortal man was diminished. Elves, dwarves and hobbits were becoming the matter of folklore and legends in Rohan and even in Rhovanion, although it was scant years since Thranduil's people had set sail for the West. Now South Ithilien was the last dwelling-place of the Firstborn in Middle- earth. The knowledge that this, too, was only a temporary refuge lay darkly on Legolas' usually sunny spirit, for he had formed a deep bond not only with this land but also, even more so, with some of its inhabitants.  
  
For the elven prince, the time since Sauron's downfall had been short compared to the many centuries he had walked in the forests of Middle- earth. And yet he knew that in these last one hundred and twenty years more changes had been brought to the world, and to the elves in particular, than in his entire life-span. Most of his immortal race had left Middle-earth when the Lady Galadriel had sailed to the Undying Lands from the Grey Havens after the One Ring had been destroyed and thus the strength of all the other rings of power, including those of the elven lords, had diminished. Those elves that still remained under Legolas' rule in the forests of South Ithilien had withdrawn more and more from the perception of humans. Men were taking over the rule of Middle-earth.  
  
Before he had set out from Rivendell on the quest to destroy the One Ring, Legolas had not had many dealings with men, and none with dwarves or hobbits. But the perilous journeys, and the losses the Fellowship had suffered, had left a deep mark on his spirit. Most of all, his unlikely friendship with Gimli the Dwarf had changed him more profoundly than his slightly aloof yet always cheerful demeanour betrayed.  
  
But the dwarves, too, were retreating into realms hidden from men. Gimli's rule of the Glittering Caves at Helm's Deep went unnoticed by all save the oldest of men living in Rohan, since the refuge of the Deep had not been sought since the days of King Théoden and the mighty battle against the evil forces of Saruman, the White Wizard. It seemed that the wonder of the beautiful caves of Aglarond had all but passed from the knowledge of the Rohirrim.  
  
Legolas' face was inscrutable as he stood motionless, watching the world awaken. Suddenly, the sharp cry of a seagull pierced the tranquillity of the young day. The elf stirred and looked up, shielding his eyes with a slender hand. A beautiful, silver-grey seagull was circling in the sky above. It was much bigger than the ordinary seagulls that followed the ships on the river Anduin with their shrieking, hoping to make a meal of the fishermen's spoils. The bird came swooping down and settled on Legolas' outstretched arm, flapping its huge wings. The elf reached out and gently took a shimmering leaf from the seagull's beak. It was beautiful, golden of colour, seemingly insubstantial in its delicacy yet sparkling with life.  
  
The elf looked down at the leaf in his hand for a long time in silence. Then, lifting his head, he smiled wistfully at the seagull. "Have you come to remind me of the Sun?" he asked softly. The bird cocked its head to one side and eyed him attentively. Then it stretched its beautiful wings and with a loud cry lifted off again.  
  
Legolas' gaze followed the seagull as it sailed down the hillside towards the river. The old yearning which had been dozing in his heart in a fitful slumber for more than a century now was calling to him again, stronger than ever. His thoughts wandered to Pelargir where he had first heard that fateful sound, when he had come to understand the meaning of the words of the Lady Galadriel.  
  
Legolas Green leaf, long under tree In joy thou hast lived. Beware of the Sea! If thou hearest the cry of the gull on the shore, Thy heart shall then rest in the forest no more.  
  
Conflicting emotions flickered across the fair face that looked so young, yet for a moment betrayed an immense weariness, showing the burden of millennia. The bright light of the sun which had by now conquered the day could not dispel the sense of foreboding in Legolas' heart, and he knew that events which had long and patiently been waiting were preparing to happen.  
  
*******  
  
When Legolas returned to the green halls in the beechwood forest that was the home of his people, two men fitted in the uniforms of the Guard of the Citadel of Minas Tirith were waiting for him. They bowed, and Legolas gave a courteous nod in reply, accepting a parchment which one of the men held out to him. "A message from King Elessar, my lord."  
  
Legolas unfolded the parchment. His mien revealed no visible reaction as he read the letter, and yet those who stood nearby could feel the change in him, like the change in the weather on the first day the autumn chill makes itself felt in the air. He carefully folded the parchment again and looked at the King's messenger. "I thank you," he said quietly. "I will come with you." The man bowed slightly, and resumed his waiting position next to his companion.  
  
Legolas gestured to an elf standing close by. "Come, Fingalas. I want to take counsel with you before I go to Minas Tirith," he said as he turned to enter the shadow of the leaves which were still of a deep, fresh green despite the time of year. The other elf fell in step with him. The likeness of his lithe frame and fair face to that of Legolas indicated a close relation between the two; only his eyes were of a startling green colour rather than the other elf's grey-blue.  
  
"Tíro, gwanur nîn."(1) Legolas opened his palm to reveal the golden leaf which the seagull had brought him. Fingalas' eyes widened, and he stopped in his tracks. "How did you come by this?" he marvelled. "It looks like mallorn, but I have never seen the like of it before. Is it from Lórien?"  
  
Legolas shook his head. "No. This is indeed a mallorn leaf, but not even in the Golden Woods were there ever trees that bear leaves like this." He paused and closed his hand again around the fine leaf. Fingalas looked at him with sudden comprehension. Legolas nodded slowly.  
  
"Send word to the shipwrights."  
  
(1) Tíro, gwanur nîn = Look, my brother. 


	2. A Last Farewell

II - A Last Farewell  
  
The journey to Minas Tirith should have been a merry and pleasant one for the small group of elves accompanying Legolas and the two messengers, for once the cool morning mists had dissolved, the days got warm and sunny, and summer still seemed to linger, although it was now the beginning of October. Yet the mood of the travellers was subdued, and there was little talk and less laughter.  
  
From time to time, the older of the two men from Gondor - Beriar was his name - cast a furtive glance at the tall elf walking silently a few steps ahead of the little group, sometimes in long conversations with his brother. Like all the other elves, he was equipped with a bow and quiver, and two long knives with white, beautifully engraved handles were strapped to his quiver. As a small child, Beriar had heard his grandfather tell the tale of the Ring of Power and the quest for its destruction, and he knew that Legolas had fought alongside Aragorn, the last descendant of the Numénorean kings, in the last defence of Gondor and Rohan. But Aragorn, the King Elessar, was very old now, ancient by the reckoning of men, whereas the elf's face showed no signs of age, and he seemed much younger than Beriar himself. Beriar marvelled at this wondrous folk, and he wished they would sing, for he had heard stories of how they liked to praise the creation in their beautiful voices. But he saw the sadness which sat on Legolas' brow, and kept silence like his fellow travellers.  
On the fourth day after leaving the beechwood halls, the little group entered Minas Tirith. People in the streets stopped and looked on in wonder as they passed, for although many knew that there were still elves in South Ithilien, few had ever seen any of the fair folk. Beriar led the travellers through the winding roads of the City, up towards the Citadel, until they reached the seventh and innermost circle of the City, and the High Court.  
  
The ground inside the courtyard was strewn with white leaves; only a few still clung to the branches of the White Tree, the last scion of the line of Nimloth. Two silent figures robed in dark blue stood waiting for them near the fountain in the middle of the court, their faces half-hidden by the branches of the tall, beautiful tree. One was a woman, slight of stature, with soft features in a clear face that had aged gracefully and still held all the beauty of youth. Her bearing was serene and erect; yet her grey eyes were deep wells of sadness. The man at her side was tall and dark, of proud bearing. He resembled her a lot, but there was also a rougher quality to his features which likened him to his father, King Elessar.  
  
Legolas bowed his head. "Arwen Undômiel." The woman returned his greeting. "Suilad, Thranduilion. I am comforted to see you here." Prince Eldarion put his right hand across his chest and said, "Be welcome, my lord. My father awaits you." With that, he turned to lead the way.  
  
Beriar, Fingalas and the other elves stayed behind in the courtyard as Legolas and Queen Arwen followed the prince to the king's quarters. Many a time Legolas had walked through these halls and corridors, but never had his heart been as heavy as now. When they reached the door to the King's chamber, Eldarion turned to his mother and Legolas.  
  
"I ask your patience for only a while. It was my father's wish to speak to me alone one last time." Without a word, the Queen sat down on a bench outside the room. Eldarion stepped inside, closing the door behind him. Legolas laid his bow and quiver down on the ground next to the door.  
  
Neither of them spoke as they waited. Legolas looked at the veiled face of his kinswoman. Although she had renounced the gift of the Eldar and had become a mortal woman ancient of years now, her flawless skin showed almost no lines, and her dark hair was touched by very few silver strands. As Legolas watched, Queen Arwen looked up and met his eyes. Despite the glorious autumn sun which sent rays of light and warmth through the windows, he could feel her despair like the bitter frost of winter, and his own sadness deepened.  
The door to the chamber opened again, and Prince Eldarion came out. His face was a mask of controlled grief. "The King awaits you." He stepped aside, and Legolas followed Arwen into the room. The Queen walked over to the farthest of the four windows and sat on a stool, her back very straight, looking out with unseeing eyes.  
  
King Elessar was sitting in an armchair near the window closest to the door. The sun played on his face, showing the deep lines of very old age. Yet he still looked hale, and it was hard to believe that his life had spanned over two hundred years. With soft, noiseless steps, Legolas walked over to the king and knelt. The old man reached out a hand. "No, Thranduilion. There is no need for that. Aragorn called for you, not King Elessar." The elf looked up and smiled. "Very well, my lord. And Legolas has come, not Thranduilion." With those words, he got to his feet and stood leaning against the window's ledge.  
  
The king looked over to where Arwen sat, and sorrow clouded his eyes. "It is time for me to go, Legolas," he said quietly. "It is sixty years ago now that Master Samwise left, and nearly as long that we laid Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin to rest in Rath Dínen."  
  
The elf chuckled softly. "For me, they will always be Merry and Pippin, those two dear hobbits. I cherish the memory of their cheerfulness." The king smiled. "It was one to match your own - even if their songs were of a little coarser nature. But now, at last, the Fellowship is truly coming to an end."  
  
A shadow passed across Legolas' fair face. "It grieves me that Gimli is not here. I should have wished to see the three hunters together once more." Aragorn sighed. "So should I. But Gimli has many worries at this time, and his attention cannot be spared. It was a severe blow for him when his nephew and heir Drórin was killed by marauding orcs."  
  
Legolas' expression saddened, and he sighed. "How much longer will Sauron's legacy be troubling the people of Middle-earth?" The old king shook his head. "These creatures are like nightmares from an evil past, but their time is over. They will soon be forgotten." Aragorn hesitated, but the elf finished the sentence for him. "Like dwarves and elves." He gave a rueful smile.  
  
They kept silent for a while. Finally, as if rousing himself from a dream, the king spoke again. "And you, my old friend?"  
  
Legolas did not reply immediately but turned to look out the window, staring into far distances. Then he faced the king again. "I have been called. I received a message from the Lady Galadriel." He paused, his eyes cast down on the floor. "I will miss Ithilien. It has become a home for us, even though we knew it was not to last. But it would turn into a lonely place for me now." Legolas lifted his head again. "I shall go once more to find the Sun."  
  
Aragorn nodded. At that moment, Arwen stirred in her seat at the far end of the room, and the king's smile vanished. Legolas looked at his friend with deep compassion. "What will become of the Queen?" he asked softly. Aragorn's face was troubled. "She will go to rest in Lórien." There was a long silence between them. At last, Legolas spoke. "I should be honoured to accompany her on that journey, if that is her wish." The king looked up at the elf, and it seemed that some of the weight was lifted from his brow. "Hannon le, Legolas. I know she will be grateful to her kinsman for that last service."  
  
Sensing that this was what had been most at the heart of his old friend, Legolas knew that the time for parting had come. Queen Arwen got up from her chair and slowly came walking over to them. The elf looked at the man, and there was no need for words to communicate their deep friendship and respect for each other.  
  
Legolas put his right hand to his heart and then opened his arm again in a sweeping movement, bowing his head in the elvish gesture of farewell. "Anor sílant erin lû govaded mîn."(2)  
  
The old king smiled. "Then let there be no clouds upon our parting." He returned the farewell and looked at his friend for a long, long time. Then he averted his eyes and held his hand out to the Queen.  
  
Legolas turned and without a sound left the King's chamber. He closed the door quietly and stood very still for a seemingly endless moment, resting his hand on the beautifully carved wood and leaning his head against it. Finally he stirred.  
  
"Namarië, mellon nîn", he whispered.  
  
As he turned to leave, he heard a familiar sound and, stepping out onto the adjacent balcony, saw the silver seagull circling high in the sky again. With another piercing cry, the big bird sailed down towards Legolas and landed on the balcony's parapet. The elf stroked its silvery feathers.  
  
"Will you bear a message for me?" he asked softly. The bird cocked its head to one side as if listening. Legolas went inside and bent down to pick an arrow from the quiver which he had laid down beside the door to the King's chamber. He stepped back outside and offered the arrow to the seagull. The bird eyed it curiously for a moment, then carefully took it in his sharp beak and climbed onto Legolas' right arm.  
  
The elf leaned over the parapet. "Tell the dwarf I shall be leaving soon", he said, and with that he threw the beautiful bird high in the air. It flapped its huge wings to gain height, then circled above him three times before it took off towards the north-west. Legolas stood for a long time, watching the seagull become smaller and smaller until it finally vanished from sight even for his far-seeing elven eyes. With an almost imperceptible shudder, he turned from the balcony towards the entrance to the King's quarters.  
  
At that moment, the door opened, and a hooded figure came out. She lifted her head, and their eyes met. The grief was almost unbearable. Legolas bowed his head. When he looked up again, Queen Arwen was gone.  
  
(2) Anor sílant erin lû govaded mîn = The Sun shone upon the hour of our meeting. 


	3. Following Old Trails

III - Following Old Trails  
  
King Elessar's funeral had been a solemn but quiet occasion. Queen Arwen had led the procession to Rath Dínen, the Silent Street, where the old king was laid to rest among the dead kings and Stewards of Gondor. Eldarion and his two sisters had followed, and Legolas with his brother Fingalas, and a few of the old king's closest counsellors. All of Minas Tirith was in deep mourning. Even the children - of which there were many in that fair city - who were usually running happily and noisily in the streets seemed to feel the grief, and their games were hushed and subdued. The crowning of Prince Eldarion as the new king of Gondor had taken place the next day. He had been well schooled by King Elessar in all matters of state, and he had inherited from his father a modesty which was founded in the knowledge that human strength of body and spirit was vulnerable. Although the people of Gondor genuinely mourned their old king, they looked with hope to a continuation of the quiet and peaceful reign which they had enjoyed for so long now.  
  
Ten days after the crowning, Legolas and Arwen set out from Minas Tirith. Arwen rode a beautiful black horse by the name of Ithildin. Legolas' horse, Híthlain, was of a light grey colour. They travelled alone, for the Queen had taken leave of her children at the gates of the White City. This parting had been very sorrowful, but Arwen had not allowed any attempts to persuade her to stay. She knew that her doom must be fulfilled now, that she now had to bear the consequences of a choice she had made more than a human age ago. They rode in silence, exchanging very few words, and although they mostly travelled in daylight, people hardly seemed to notice them. If they passed farmers in the fields, the workers would straighten up and look around, feeling they had heard a whisper go by. But hardly anyone saw the two riders, one robed in black with a veil hiding her face, the other clad in shimmering greens, both seemingly insubstantial. They travelled unhurriedly but swiftly, and after six days came to the south-eastern border of Fangorn where they halted for the night. After he had taken the saddle off Ithildin - his own horse needed neither saddle nor reins - and seen to it that Arwen rested comfortably, Legolas went to stand at the edges of the forest. He peered into the darkness, lost in deep thought. It seemed to him he could see eyes watching him from among the trees. But he did not feel the urge to follow them, as he had when hunting the orcs that had taken two hobbits captive, a long time ago. He had seen the tree-herds, those foresters of an ancient past, and he had visited Fangorn with his friend Gimli. Despite his love for the forest and all things living therein, the yearning in his heart was of a different kind now. He turned and looked over to where Arwen sat. She had drawn up her knees and embraced them, resting her chin on them, staring into the small fire that was crackling away. Legolas quietly went over and sat down next to her, sharing her silence for a while. "Is there no way I can offer comfort, my lady?" he finally asked. Arwen sat motionless and didn't respond for a long time. Then she stirred and looked up at Legolas. Her eyes shimmered brightly. "I made a choice long ago, and I knew that there would be no comfort for me when the time came. Yet now I feel weak, and I long for my people." Legolas lowered his gaze and hesitated before replying. "I do not know the designs of the Valar, and I respect your choice. But must your fate be the same as that of Lúthien? Is there no way you can come across the Sea with me to be reunited with your father?" Arwen smiled, but there was profound sadness in her eyes. "Yes," she replied. "Yes, I could repent and go to the West. But there my love for Elessar would ever only be a memory, and all that we shared in our long years together would not have been real. It would be a betrayal of our love." She straightened her shoulders. "No. I have made my choice, and I will carry it through." Legolas didn't reply. He thought of all the perils he had mastered together with Aragorn, the Ranger from the North, and of the small, furry- footed hobbits, and of his friend Gimli, the dwarf. He remembered his inner turmoil when the Balrog had taken Gandalf the Wizard with him into the abyss of Khazad-dûm, and he remembered his sadness when they had found Boromir slain by the uruk-hai. Although he was of immortal kind and did not fully comprehend pain and death, his journeys and dealings with other races had taught him many things about their feelings and motivations. As Legolas watched Arwen stretch out on her blanket and go to sleep, he accepted that she had indeed become a mortal woman. All he could do was to watch over her and escort her safely to her last destination.  
  
It took them another four days to travel around the eastern edge of Fangorn and then on towards Lórien. On the morning of the first day of November, they saw the Golden Woods shimmering in the distance, and in the early evening they reached its borders. As they looked upon the tall, silver mallorn trees which even in their half-nakedness radiated an unearthly beauty, Legolas heard Arwen mutter softly, "Na veduí!" (3) They dismounted and walked to the very edge of the woods. Then Arwen stopped and took off a long, fine chain which she had been wearing around her neck. "Take this to my father," she said as she placed the beautiful silver pendant into Legolas' hand. "My lord returned it to me when we parted. This way, the Evenstar will forever remain in the Undying Lands." Legolas closed his hand around the jewel. "I will take this to the lord Elrond, and a memory of this moment," he answered. They looked at each other for a long moment, and the world around them seemed to be hushed. No bird sang his evening song, no animal scurried past on its way to night rest, and the only sound was the rustle of the few remaining leaves on the mallorn trees. Then, without another word, Arwen cast down her eyes and turned away. Legolas' heart reached out to her with compassion, yet he knew he could not help her or make her burden lighter. Aching, he watched as she slowly, noiselessly disappeared among the gently whispering trees that seemed to welcome and enfold her as she became a shadow among shadows from the past.  
  
Legolas stood motionless for a long time, saying a silent prayer. Suddenly he felt a soft nudge at his shoulder. He turned to the grey horse which had come up behind him and was nuzzling his arm. The elf gently rubbed the animal's soft nose. "Tolo, Híthlain," (4) he said. "There is one more journey to make."  
  
(3) Na veduí = At last! (4) Tolo = Come 


	4. The Glittering Caves

IV The Glittering Caves  
  
Now that he was alone and could switch horses whenever one of the two animals tired, Legolas travelled more swiftly across the wide plains of Rohan. The air carried the first signs of approaching winter, but the elf did not feel the chill of the ever shorter days or the frost of the starlit nights. His mind wandered in green and sunny lands far beyond the reach of human thought.  
  
On the fourth day after he had set out from Lórien, Legolas could see the tall peaks of Thrihyrne and, nestled in its shadow, the gorge in the hills that was Helm's Deep and the mighty fortress which was called the Hornburg. Its high walls of ancient stone and the lofty tower had for many centuries withstood every assault, until Saruman's vast host of orcs and uruk-hai had broken through in the big battle at the end of the Third Age. The breach in the wall had been closed, and now the fortress was in excellent repair, albeit seemingly deserted. But Legolas knew that behind those impenetrable walls, dwarves had been busy for more than a century now, putting their love of rock and stone to good use  
  
As Legolas rode up the long ramp that led to the gate in the Deeping Wall, leading Ithíldin behind him, he heard shouts and the sounds of thumping feet within. When he reached the gate, it opened slowly to reveal a small, stout figure standing there, his feet resolutely planted into the ground, his arms resting on an old, notched battle-axe.  
  
"You are late, Master Elf," the dwarf growled. "It has been nigh on a month since I received your message." Legolas' expression darkened. "I had another errand ere I could follow my messenger," he said, and lightly leapt down from Híthlain's back. The two stood looking at each other for a moment. Then the dwarf broke into a wide grin.  
  
"By Durin's beard, it is good to see you again, Legolas!"  
  
Legolas smiled, and the shadow that had been weighing on his mind since he left Lórien was lifted, if only for a while. "It is indeed, Gimli. I am glad to see you looking hale and sound."  
  
Indeed, the dwarf seemed of good health and strong as ever, even though his hair and beard were entirely grey streaked with white. Even in the reckoning of the long-lived dwarves, he had reached a high age, and it showed in the slowness of his movements as they walked through the outer court of the Hornburg.  
  
Some other dwarves appeared to welcome the guest, but they kept at a safe distance from the horses which they eyed suspiciously. Legolas hid his amusement and said, "Let me take care of the horses first. We have travelled a long distance at great speed, and they deserve a good rest." "Very well," Gimli replied. "You know best what they need." And with that, he led the way to the stables.  
  
Although the stables obviously had not been in use for a very long time, Legolas found a box made ready with straw. It was apparent that Gimli had expected his friend to come with only one horse, but the box was actually spacious enough to accommodate both animals, and there was fresh water and plenty of hay and oats in the trough.  
  
When Legolas had taken the saddle off Ithildin and made sure that the horses had enough to feed and drink, he followed Gimli through many winding passageways into the caves of the Deep. They walked on sandy floors of many colours, through a maze of halls with veins of precious ore glinting in the polished walls. Columns of many shades of white and rose twisted in dreamlike forms upwards to the ceiling where they met their glistening counterparts. Here and there, small lakes reflected the extraordinary colours and shapes in their still mirrors. The two companions passed many dwarves quietly busying themselves, some carefully, gently chipping away at the rocks, others polishing the marble. Surrounding them was an air of calm and peace, a stillness broken only by the soft, tinkling sound of water running down from the rock and trickling into the pools.  
  
At last, Gimli and Legolas came to a medium-sized hall with a still lake at the far end. A small stream was flowing away from the lake, bubbling along merrily as it passed a cluster of delicate stone columns which had been shaped to the likeness of trees. A joyful smile spread across the elf's face as he took in all the minute details, from the tiniest twig to the beautifully carved gold-shimmering leaves. He turned to Gimli.  
  
"If ever I had any doubt that there could be love between dwarves and elves, this should prove me wrong. This work of beauty is so unlike the most impressive halls of Dwarrowdelf, and yet only dwarves could have wrought anything like it. You have surpassed yourself, my friend."  
  
Gimli heaved a deep sigh. "You flatter me, Legolas. Still, despite its beauty, I always feel sadness in this place, for memory is not what the heart desires. - But come. There is something I must show you."  
  
The dwarf motioned the elf to accompany him, and they walked over to the forest of stone. In the crown of the tallest of the marble trees, on a little platform, there was a cube of faultlessly clear crystal, and set within this were three strands of golden hair. Next to the crystal, there was a small parcel, about as big as a man's palm, wrapped in a mallorn leaf and tied with a single strand of the same golden hair.  
  
Gimli reached out and took down the parcel. Then, with the utmost care, he untied it. Inside, there was a tiny sheaf of very thin parchment, covered in a beautiful, delicate handwriting. Gimli gently unfolded it and held it out to Legolas.  
  
"You see that you are not the only one who received a message from the Lady Galadriel. But, alas, these are elvish letters, and I cannot decipher their meaning," the dwarf said.  
  
Legolas took the parchment and started to read. His eyes widened in surprise, and he looked at his stout friend, then continued to study the letter. Finally he handed it back to Gimli.  
  
"Well? What does the Lady write?" the dwarf asked anxiously.  
  
Legolas smiled in reply, and there was awe in his voice as he spoke. "This is most wondrous. It seems that the Lady Galadriel has obtained permission from the Valar for you to journey across the Sea with me and to dwell in the Undying Lands, if you so desire."  
  
The dwarf stood very still, bereft of words. He stared at the delicate parchment in his trembling hand for a long, long moment. Then he looked up at the elf, and there were tears shimmering in his eyes.  
  
"I never dared dream to look again upon that which I deemed fairest in this world, or any other," he whispered. "Yes, my friend. Yes, I will come with you." He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. "With you by my side, I shall not fear crossing the vast waters. Nay, I would even cross it alone in a nutshell now that I know I will see the Lady Galadriel again."  
  
The elf smiled fondly. "You move me, Master Dwarf."  
  
Gimli harrumphed in an attempt to cover his embarrassment. A glint of mischief stole into his eyes. "So? It seems we have come a long way since you called for a plague on the stiff necks of dwarves!" he said. Legolas chuckled. "Indeed we have, my friend."  
  
Very carefully, Gimli folded the letter again and wrapped the mallorn leaf around it, tying it up with the strand of golden hair. Then he slipped the parcel into his tunic. "This letter I will take with me and always keep close to my heart. But the crystal with the Lady's hair shall remain here, as a lasting testimony to the friendship between elves and dwarves in Middle-earth."  
Although Gimli was eager to leave, two more weeks passed until everything was settled and he had handed over the rule of Aglarond to his cousin Fraín. In the evenings, elf and dwarf could be seen sitting by the fires that lit the Glittering Caves, talking until deep in the night. There was much to tell, and much of it was full of sorrow; Gimli wept openly at Legolas' tale of Queen Arwen's passing. Yet there were also joyous moments as they recalled earlier travels and adventures, and whenever their talk turned to Lothlórien, the dwarf's eyes shone with fond memory and eager anticipation.  
  
Finally, they were ready to depart.  
  
A little reluctantly, Gimli had agreed to ride Arwen's horse. His suspicion of horses had never quite abated, despite all the years of dealing with the horsemen of Rohan. But he admitted that it would be an easier way to travel than clinging to Legolas' back, as he had done so many years before.  
  
"I guess at my age one should look for a little more comfort in travel," he grumbled as he mounted the black horse, using a big boulder to help him get up. Legolas bit back a smile. "Don't worry, Master Dwarf. You will find Ihtildin a very reliable steed."  
  
As the two unlikely companions passed through the gate of the Deeping Wall, a loud, booming sound rang out. It carried far across the Westfold, and people in the surrounding country who heard it paused in whatever they were doing, wondering at this sound from the past. The oldest among them whispered, "It's Helm's horn. Helm's horn is being blown. Something extraordinary has happened."  
  
At Helm's Deep, Legolas cast his glance back to the Hornburg. On the walls and behind the parapets of the fortress, many dwarves had gathered in a silent farewell to their lord. The elf looked at his friend.  
  
"Are you still willing to forsake all this, and come with me?" he asked softly.  
  
"It is not without regret and fear that I leave my people," Gimli replied in a gruff voice. "But my heart speaks clearly at the thought of seeing the Lady of the Golden Woods again."  
  
Legolas looked at the grey-bearded dwarf gravely and nodded. "Then let us not tarry." And with a gentle word to Híthlain, he led the way down the ramp. Gimli glanced back at the Hornburg once more. Then, resolutely, he turned and urged his horse on to follow the elf. 


	5. There Is Still Evil in the World

V - There Is Still Evil in the World  
  
Their journey along the southern border of the Westfold, in the shadow of the Ered Nimrais, was uneventful. They passed Edoras without stopping and crossed into the Eastfold on the second day after setting out from Helm's Deep.  
  
As the evening of that day drew near, Legolas pointed to the distance. "I can see a small settlement at the foot of the mountains, about half a league away", he said. "I count ten, no, twelve huts with straw- thatched roofs."  
  
Suddenly he straightened up and peered intently ahead. "There is dark smoke rising, and I hear cries and sounds of battle!" He turned to Gimli who was riding behind him, only to see that the dwarf had already loosened his old battle-axe. "You ride ahead, Legolas, and I will follow as fast as I can!" he growled. The elf nodded and bent over his horse's neck. "Noro lim, Híthlain!" he whispered, and the grey horse tossed its head and leaped forward with a loud whinny.  
  
Legolas had soon left Gimli far behind, covering the distance at great speed. As he approached the settlement he could see the fire rising from one of the huts. Several men on foot were fighting a large number of dark figures, most of who were on horseback. The villagers were hopelessly outnumbered. Huddled in a corner near the largest building was a small group of women and children. A young man stood in front of them, brandishing his sword in a desperate attempt to defend them.  
  
Without slowing down, Legolas took the bow from his back and fitted an arrow to the string. Although he was still several hundred feet away, his shot felled the attacker who was closest to the little group. Another arrow followed swiftly, and another marauder fell to the ground with a pierced throat.  
  
For a moment, there was confusion among both attackers and defenders as they turned to see where the arrows had come from. Then the marauders split up, and four of them came riding towards Legolas. The elf sent two more arrows at his attackers in rapid succession, then ducked underneath their swords as he passed them, and veered around. His next arrow found its mark. The last rider cried out in anger and fear as the angry elf came riding towards him at a gallop. He never saw the blade that cut his throat.  
  
Legolas turned back towards the settlement. The fighting between the huts was continuing, and despite the unexpected help, the settler's plight was dire. With deadly precision, the elf shot one arrow after the other, heedless of the arrows that whirred past him in reply. He had spent most of his quiver when Gimli finally caught up with him. Despite the obvious discomfort his speedy ride had caused him, the dwarf seemed eager for battle, for he growled, "Help me down, Legolas! I need firm ground where I can wield my axe!" Legolas reached out his hand and helped the dwarf swing down from his horse's back. With a mighty shout of "Khazâd ai-mênu!" Gimli ran towards the fighting men, swinging his axe and cutting down those that were too slow to notice his fury.  
  
Faced by these two formidable fighters, the marauders began to waver. Many of them lay slain, and the defenders doubled their efforts with renewed hope. Slowly, the attackers were driven back. Those who had not yet fallen victim to Legolas' bow or Gimli's axe turned and fled.  
  
Seeing that victory seemed to be theirs, Legolas was about to dismount when suddenly he felt a sharp pain in his right shoulder as the impact of an arrow sent him reeling backwards. Híthlain reared, and Legolas nearly lost his hold. Reaching for his aching shoulder, he looked up to see one last marauder aiming another arrow at him.  
  
A cold anger came over the elf. With a sharp yank, he pulled the arrow from the wound. He doubled over with a low groan as searing pain shot through his arm and shoulder, but then straightened up again and fitted the bloody arrow to his own bow. As his assailant fired the next shot, the string of Legolas' bow whirred, and his arrow split that of the marauder down the middle. In a move as quick as lightning, the elf pulled another arrow from his quiver and fitted it to the string. His assailant groped around in his quiver, but all his arrows were spent. The man's eyes widened in fear at the elf's wrath, and he stumbled backwards, tripping and falling to the ground.  
  
Legolas raised his bow to aim - but then slowly, hesitating, he lowered it again. For a long moment, everybody just stared, for none had ever seen elf or dwarf before; they had believed them to be mere fables. Attacker and villagers alike were frightened by this beautiful and terrible warrior. But the look of anger slowly vanished from the elf's face and was replaced by an expression of fatigue and sadness.  
  
"Leave," Legolas said to the trembling man on the ground. "I am tired of seeing that evil has not been vanquished, despite the deaths of so many brave souls." He made a gesture, as if waving away an obnoxious fly. "Just go." The man stared at him in disbelief for a moment, then scrambled to his feet, jumped onto one of the horses, and fled.  
  
The elf cast the arrow aside and slid down from Híthlain's back. Then he turned to the frightened villagers. Some of the men were trying to keep the fire which had almost completely destroyed one hut from spreading to the others. Gimli was standing next to the young man who had defended the women and children. The old dwarf leaned on his notched battle-axe, and his heavy breathing betrayed the effort this skirmish had cost him. He looked at his friend in concern.  
  
"You are injured," Gimli puffed between two belaboured breaths. Legolas shook his head dismissively. "It can wait," he replied, and indeed it seemed the wound was hardly bleeding; but he clutched his right arm tightly to his side.  
  
One of the settlers approached them hesitatingly. Like the others, men and women alike, he wore the traditional garb of the Rohirrim, and his weather-beaten face betrayed a life-long exposure to the sun and the winds on the plains of Rohan. His blond hair fell on his shoulders in two thick braids. His stature and demeanour seemed to make him out as the leader of the settlers.  
  
"That was most unexpected help, my lords," he said in a husky voice. "It seems that fables and legends come alive! How can we thank you?"  
  
Legolas looked at Gimli, and then over to where Híthlain and Ithildin were grazing. "By providing shelter and food for our horses, and a place to sleep for my friend." Gimli harrumphed, as if about to protest that he didn't need rest. But a look at the horses, and the stiffness of his old bones seemed to remind him of his age, and he acquiesced.  
  
"I shall be honoured to accommodate you," the settler replied. Then he added, with a look at the elf's simple but exquisite garments and the dwarf's silver-studded leather coat, "I only fear that our dwellings are not what lords such as yourselves are accustomed to."  
  
Elf and dwarf glanced at each other, and a quick smile flickered across Legolas' face as Gimli said, "Don't worry, good sir. We have travelled the width and length of your fair country before, and if the bare ground and open sky were good enough for us then, I am sure we will find comfort in your home now."  
Although the settlers were glad that the attack had been successfully fought back, there was grievous work to be done, for there were not only marauders among the slain. Those who had died defending their homes were set apart to be given a decent burial the next day, while the bodies of the marauders were unceremoniously piled in a heap some way away from the village. Thélming, the village chief, lit the pyre. The flames roared upwards and shone on his grim face as he stared into the fire.  
  
Then he returned to the settlement to see to the welfare of his guests. His wife Iomed had cooked a good meal, and Gimli the dwarf was tucking into it with a hearty appetite. Legolas, however, had not joined them. Thélming went outside again and after some searching found the elf with the horses. He was sitting in the grass next to Híthlain, softly chanting in Elvish.  
  
Thélming cleared his throat respectfully. "I do not wish to disturb you, my lord," he said. "But I was told that you had not eaten. Are you well?" Legolas turned to the man, and his eyes reflected the starlight of the clear night sky. "I appreciate your concern, good friend. Do not think I scorn your lady's excellent fare. I do not need or desire to eat."  
  
Thélming accepted this answer with a nod. "But what about your wound? My wife's cousin is an experienced healer and well learned in herb-lore. She would be glad to be of aid to you." Legolas looked at the man for a moment. Then he inclined his head slightly.  
  
"Very well. I shall come with you to see if she knows athelas." The elf got to his feet in a smooth movement; but then he staggered, reaching out to support himself on Híthlain, as a blazing pain shot through his injured shoulder. The horse stopped grazing and lifted his head. Very gently he nudged Legolas' side, snorting quietly. The elf took a deep breath, and straightened up.  
  
"Lead the way to your herb-lady, Thélming", he said.  
When Gimli was woken the next morning by beams of the bright winter sun shining on his face, he found Legolas leaning in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest, looking down at him with a mischievous grin.  
  
"Good morning, Master Dwarf," the elf said merrily. "I was beginning to be concerned about you. It sounded as if you were trying to defeat all foes of Rohan single-handedly by deafening them with your snores."  
  
Gimli swung his short legs from his bedstead with a grunt and pushed himself up. "And a good morning to you, too, comely elf," he grumbled. Then he gave his friend a questioning look. "How are you? How is your wound?"  
  
"It is healing," Legolas replied simply; but to Gimli he looked paler than usual. The dwarf saw the white of a linen bandage shining through the torn cloth of the elf's jerkin. "Thélming's relative knows her ways with herbs, although I would have wished for athelas rather than the foul- smelling paste she smeared on my shoulder. But come. We have a long way still to go, and knowing your appetite, breakfast is going to be as long as any hobbit could make it!" And laughing at the dwarf's blustering, Legolas turned and left.  
  
However, it was not much later that the two companions mounted their horses again and took leave of their host. Thélming bowed his head. "Fare you well, my lords. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for us."  
  
Legolas looked down at Thélming's son, a boy of about eight years, who was staring up at them in awe. The elf bent down toward the boy. "What is your name?" he asked gently. "Be... Beregard, my lord," the child stammered. "Very well, Master Beregard," Legolas said. "I will teach you some Elvish, so listen well." The boy's eyes bulged, and he stood on his toes as if straining to hear better. Legolas smiled. "Trenerich i narn - tell the tale. Tell the tale of the friendship between men, and elves, and dwarves. Will you remember that?" Beregard nodded furiously. With an almost imperceptible wink, the elf straightened up again.  
  
"Tolo, Ithildin." At these words from Legolas, Gimli's horse tossed its head, and the two companions rode out from the village.  
For a long time, Thélming and his son stood still, watching until finally the riders disappeared from their view. Then Thélming put an arm around Beregard's shoulder and drew him close.  
  
"Remember this moment, my son. Tell your children, and your children's children, about it. In my heart I feel that soon magical folk as these will not be seen any more in Rohan, maybe not in all of Middle- earth." 


	6. Two Kings

VI Two Kings  
  
For the next three days, Legolas and Gimli travelled alongside the mountain range that separates Rohan from Gondor in the south. They rode at a leisurely pace, allowing their horses frequent rests, and spent many hours talking of previous journeys and old friends that had long since passed from Middle-earth. The nights were turning frosty, but Gimli was well equipped with a thick fur coat, and Legolas didn't seem to feel the cold.  
  
From time to time, the dwarf would cast a concerned looked at his companion who seemed to welcome the slow pace of their travels more than fit his normally rather impatient nature. However, whenever Gimli enquired about his injured shoulder, the elf would dismiss the matter, saying it would be taken care of when they were back in Ihtilien. But an unusual stiffness in Legolas' movements betrayed the pain the wound was still causing him, and Gimli found it rather disquieting that the elf actually lay down to rest, when he'd always been wont to spend the nights wandering under the stars, resting his mind in faraway places.  
  
They crossed the Mering stream into Anórien in grey and misty weather. But the sun shone brightly on the morning of the fourth day after the skirmish at Thélming's village. Their horses climbed a long, gently rising slope, and as they reached the top Gimli pointed ahead.  
  
"Look, Legolas. I see something white reflecting the sunlight. Is that Minas Tirith?" Despite his obvious fatigue, the elf chuckled. "It seems that in all your travels with me you have acquired elvish eyesight, Master Dwarf. Indeed, that is the White City."  
  
"Then why are we wasting our time here? You will see that I have also become an expert horseman!" With those words, Gimli urged his horse on. Legolas watched with an amused expression as the dwarf trotted down the hill, bobbing precariously from side to side. Then he whispered to Híthlain, and the grey horse followed his companion.  
Their approach must have been noticed from afar, for when they reached Minas Tirith in the late afternoon, two guards from the Citadel greeted them at the City Gate. One of them was Beriar.  
  
"Welcome once more, my lord," he said to Legolas, and bowed low. Then he looked at Gimli with wonder in his eyes. "We did not expect two riders. But it is a pleasure and an honour to welcome such a rare guest."  
  
"We thank you for your courtesy, Master Beriar," Legolas replied. "I did not expect to return with a companion, either. But I am sure King Eldarion will be pleased to learn about his arrival, for Gimli son of Glóin was one of the Nine Companions, and it was he and his people who wrought these gates."  
  
A look of awe came over Beriar's face as he looked from the massive mithril gates to the dwarf mounted on the black horse. He turned to the man at his side. "Go tell the king. I shall accompany our guests to the Citadel." The other man nodded and quickly disappeared among the crowd that had gathered at the gates. Beriar turned back to the riders.  
  
"Let me take you to the Citadel where you and your horses can rest, my lords."  
  
They followed their guide through the winding streets, up the same roads that Legolas had walked only a few weeks ago to pay a last tribute to his old friend Aragorn. As they passed, people turned to look after them, whispering to each other. Legolas' keen ears had no difficulty picking up the comments about the marvel of this day, an elf and a dwarf, they're being taken to the king! The elf watched Gimli's stout frame, so powerful and yet so small, looking almost delicate up on the big black horse's back, and he couldn't help grinning. They must be quite a sight indeed.  
  
They finally reached the High Court to find King Eldarion waiting. Beriar, who had been leading Gimli's horse, stopped near a low wall, thus discreetly enabling him to dismount without help; he sensed that this would have been slightly embarrassing for the proud dwarf. Gimli swung his short legs down onto the wall and then to the ground with some difficulty; he was glad to feel firm soil under his old feet again after so many days of travelling on horseback. Legolas dismounted with more ease, but he held on to Híthlain's mane rather longer than was necessary, as if to steady himself, before he turned to greet the king.  
  
"Híril nîn,"(5) he said, bowing his head.  
  
"Mae govannen, mellyn nîn," Eldarion replied graciously. "The unexpected guest brings delight to the host." His eyes wandered up to the elf's shoulder and took in the torn and bloodied tunic.  
  
"But you are wounded, Legolas. What happened?" He did not voice his fear, but Legolas answered the unasked question. "It was after I took leave of the Queen at the edge of Lórien. Gimli and I helped some villagers defend their homes against marauding Southrons."  
  
"I was not of much use, being far too slow to catch up with Master Elf here," Gimli growled. "He was wounded by an arrow and has refused any help so far, pretending it was a mere trifle, but it is not. Maybe you can talk some sense into him, my lord."  
  
Eldarion smiled at the dwarf's concern for his friend which was only thinly veiled under his gruff tone. "The hands of the king are the hands of a healer," he replied. "I have inherited this gift from my father, and from my mother's father. Come with me, Legolas, and let me have a look at your injury."  
  
Legolas hesitated, as if about to protest that he was alright. But his exhaustion showed in his face too clearly to be denied, and after a moment he bowed his head in acquiescence. Eldarion motioned to Beriar. "Take the horses to the stables and see to it that they're taken care of, Beriar," he said. The man nodded and tugged at Ithildin's reins. At a word from Legolas, Híthlain tossed his head and whinnied. The he followed Beriar and Ihtildin from the courtyard.  
  
"Will you accompany us to the Houses of Healing, Gimli?" Eldarion asked. "I am eager to learn the reason for your most welcome visit." "Gladly, my lord," Gimli replied. "I only hope that there will be a comfortable place for an old dwarf's tired bones. I am not made for travelling on horseback and need a good rest!" Eldarion laughed. "As well you deserve, Master Dwarf." And with that, he bade Legolas and Gimli follow him.  
They left the courtyard and walked along a narrow path to the Houses of Healing. Legolas was leaning on Gimli's stout shoulder for support, for although he had not admitted it before, he was feeling weak and weary. As they walked, the elf told the king about the letter Gimli had received from the Lady Galadriel, and Gimli added to this an account of the skirmish at Thélming's village.  
  
Eldarion listened intently. He did not talk much, and the sensitive elf understood that the king wanted to keep the questions most pressing on his heart for another, more private moment.  
  
As they entered the Houses of Healing, a woman came to welcome them and with a deep curtsey offered her services, but Eldarion bade her only bring some water and fresh linen, saying he would take care of this himself. The woman obliged, and after she had brought a bowl of steaming water and a stack of white cloth to the room to which they had retired, she bowed once more and left the room. King Eldarion bade Legolas stand next to a low table while he took some jars and containers from a cupboard. While he did this, Gimli sank down on the softly cushioned bed with a very audible sigh.  
  
At the king's request, Legolas undid the clasps of his jerkin and gingerly slipped out of this and the tunic he was wearing underneath. Carefully Eldarion took off the bandage around the elf's bruised shoulder and chest and washed off the dried blood with warm water. Legolas winced but kept still as the king's gentle fingers probed the torn tissue.  
  
Suddenly a loud snore made them both look up and over at Gimli, only to see that he had fallen asleep with his mouth open. The elf regarded the dwarf fondly. "The stubborn creature would never agree to this, but the battle and the long journey on horseback was a lot to ask of his old body."  
  
The king smiled and returned his attention to Legolas' shoulder. "The people from Rohan use Centaury and Scleranthus for healing open wounds," he commented. "Although these herbs are not as potent as athelas, this is already healing well, considering the strain which the long ride has put on your body."  
  
Eldarion opened one of the containers and took from it a white salve which he carefully spread over the wound. The he bandaged the elf's shoulder again with some fresh linen. Looking at the sleeping dwarf, he said, "You too should allow yourself some rest, Legolas. Even an elf needs to take care of his physical needs sometimes. You will find comfort in an adjacent room. We can talk more in the morning."  
  
Legolas finished buttoning up his tunic and reached for his jerkin. "I thank you, my lord. I cannot deny that the thought of a soft bed is appealing - all the more so if there is a thick wall between my poor ears and this amazingly noisy dwarf," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. The king followed his gaze to the snoring figure on the bed and laughed. "Very well. Come, I will show you the way."  
The next morning, after a good night's sleep and a hearty breakfast, Gimli went to look for his companion. His search led the dwarf to the Hall of the White Tower, a great room lit by deep windows at either side, the high roof held up by pillars of black marble. At the far end of the hall, on a dais raised by several steps, Gimli saw the throne of Gondor, a high- backed seat exquisitely carved of ancient wood. He heard soft voices, and walking down the long hall toward the throne, found King Eldarion and Legolas standing at one of the wide windows, deep in conversation. The elf drew something from underneath his tunic, and a brief spark of silver flashed in his hand as he showed it to the king.  
  
Although Gimli could not see the king's face clearly, he could sense the grief almost physically. He slowed his steps, hesitating, but Eldarion looked up at the sound of his heavy footsteps and smiled courteously. "Welcome, Lord Gimli. I hope you are well rested."  
  
"I am, my lord, and have been very well attended to. My thanks for your gracious hospitality," Gimli replied. "I also see that our good elf here seems to be in much better shape than yesterday." Indeed, fatigue and pain seemed to have disappeared from Legolas' face, although there was still some tenderness in the way he held his right arm.  
  
"There was no evil in that wound," Eldarion said. "Yet if I am not mistaken, the scar of this battle is in the mind rather than in the body."  
  
A wistful smile passed over the elf's face. "You have your father's intuition, my lord. I find it troubling indeed that despite the defeat of the Dark Lord which cost so many lives, men will still try to kill each other. I fear the consequences this mind-set will inflict on the Earth."  
  
The king turned to look out the window. "Evil will never disappear entirely, Legolas. Maybe it is not possible for an elf to understand this." They stood in silence for a while, each lost in his own thoughts, looking out across the bustling city and down onto the Anduin. From up here, the river looked like a big, glistening snake as it curved lazily, coming from the north and passing between the two cities of Minas Tirith and Osgiliath, meandering towards Pelargir.  
  
Finally, the king turned to the dwarf. "I marvel that you have been called across the Sea, Gimli. In all the ages, this has only ever been granted to the people of my mother's race, with the exception of the Ring bearers. The Lady Galadriel must hold you in very high esteem."  
  
Gimli blushed and didn't reply, but he reached for the place underneath his leather jerkin where he carried the Lady's parcel, and his eyes shone with happiness. Legolas smiled.  
  
"Have you had word from my brother, my lord?" he asked the king.  
  
"I have. Ten days ago he sent a messenger to say that your ship will be ready to sail from Pelargir before the tenth day of Girithron."(6) The elf nodded and stared out the window. More to himself than to his companions, he softly said, "So it is fitting that we should leave during firith, before rhîw embraces Middle-earth."(7)  
  
Gimli looked at his friend questioningly, but Legolas seemed lost in thought. Eldarion put a hand on the dwarf's shoulder. "Come, Gimli. Last night, you expressed your wish to see my father's tomb. I will take you to Rath Dínen." The dwarf heaved a sigh and turned away from the window. "Aye, my lord. Much as the prospect of this visit has been heavy on my heart, I desire to say farewell to a dear friend." And with that, he followed the king from the Tower Hall. Legolas stayed behind, motionless, his gaze following the river southward to the Sea.  
King Eldarion led Gimli through the courtyard and the Citadel gates to a door in the rearward wall of the sixth circle. Passing through that door, they descended a long and winding road which ended on a narrow strip of land. There, in the shadow of the great Mount Mindolluin, Gimli gazed upon the halls which housed the tombs of dead Kings and Stewards of Gondor.  
  
Wordlessly, he followed his guide down the Silent Street. They went past the last of the sombre mansions and stopped in front of a stone table which was set upon a platform several steps high. On it lay a body encased in greyish-white marble. A kind of peace, a feeling of tranquillity emanated from the rugged, noble features of this dead king. Here lay a man who had found fulfilment in his life, and chosen his own time for departing from it.  
  
King Eldarion stared at his father's tomb. "He did not want to be buried in a closed vault," he whispered, conflicting emotions struggling in his voice. "He said he wanted to be able to look at the stars, as in all those nights he travelled Middle-earth as Aragorn, the Ranger from the North."  
  
Gimli didn't answer. Instead, he sank to his knees in front of the tomb and bowed his head. Quiet sobs shook his sturdy frame. The man behind him did not move or speak, did not interrupt the dwarf's sorrow as he wrestled with his own.  
  
Suddenly, Gimli felt a light touch. He looked up through eyes blinded by tears to see Legolas standing next to him, resting a comforting hand on his stout friend's shoulder. The dwarf clapped his gnarled, dark fingers over the elf's slender hand and grasped it tightly. They regarded each other for a long moment, wordlessly communicating their grief at the loss of a great friend. Finally, Legolas broke the silence.  
  
"We were privileged to have known him, Gimli."  
  
The dwarf nodded. His reply was choked with tears. "Aye." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Let us leave, Legolas."  
  
(5) Híril nîn = my lord (6) Girithron = December (7) firith = fading, rhîw = winter 


	7. To the Sea, to the Sea

VII To the Sea, to the Sea  
  
It was decided that Gimli would stay in Minas Tirith while Legolas went on to South Ithilien to oversee the preparations for their departure. The dwarf had tried to persuade his friend to take a few days' respite in the City, to wait until his shoulder was fully healed. But Legolas was restless. His eyes kept wandering south, and his attention was clearly distracted. Finally Gimli gave up his vain attempts.  
  
"Confound that impatient elf," he grumbled to himself, and then, loudly, "Go on, then. I will travel alone to Pelargir to meet you there."  
  
"No, not alone, Master Gimli," a gentle voice beside him said. Gimli turned to see that King Eldarion had entered the dwarf's room, in which this discussion had taken place. "I shall accompany you, if I may." For a moment, Gimli seemed at a loss of words. Then he rallied. "It would be an honour, and a great pleasure for me, my lord," he said, bowing his head. The king smiled at the dwarf's courtesy.  
  
"Nay, good friend. The pleasure is mine." Then Eldarion looked over to the window where Legolas was standing, and his eyes met those of the elf in a long, troubled gaze. "I want to say farewell when the last of my mother's kindred leave these shores."  
  
Legolas returned the man's gaze, and a deep sadness stole into the look of anticipation which had made his face look so young again. He did not say anything. Nothing he could have said would have changed anything for the king, or for him. Finally, Eldarion nodded.  
  
"Híthlain is well rested and eager to bear you again, Legolas. Send him back when you and your people are ready." And with those words, he turned and left the room.  
It was still dark when Legolas left Minas Tirith the next morning. The stillness of winter enveloped the sleeping city, but the elf took no heed of the cold or the dark. In his heart and mind, he could feel the Sun, for he knew that at last his longing for the Sea would be fulfilled.  
  
Once he had left the mighty gates behind, the elf bowed down to whisper something into Híthlain's twitching ear, and the grey horse leaped forward, glad to exert himself in a good long run. Although Híthlain was only a mortal horse, born and bred by the Rohirrim and given to Gondor as a token of friendship like so many before, a great bond and friendship had formed between the steed and his fair rider, spurring the animal on.  
  
So it was in the late afternoon of the second day after leaving Minas Tirith that Legolas reached the beechwood forest on the high hill in South Ithilien which he had left less than two months ago. Híthlain was tired and covered in sweat, but he held his head up proudly as they came to a halt outside the elves' dwelling. Fingalas and several other elves stood waiting, raising their fist to the chest in greeting.  
  
"Suilad, gwanur," Fingalas said with a warm smile. "We have been longing for your return."  
  
Legolas leapt lightly down from Híthlain's back and caressed the horses shivering neck. "Some unexpected things happened on the way," he replied in a light tone, but Fingalas' quick eyes had already detected the slight stiffness in his brother's arm. Legolas shook his head almost imperceptibly at his questioning look and turned to one of the other elves. "Take good care of this horse, Rúmil. He has served me faithfully." With a bow to his lord and a gentle word to the grey horse, the elf turned. Híthlain nudged Legolas' arm and snorted softly, then followed Rúmil.  
  
Legolas and Fingalas entered the halls which were no longer green as the foliage had turned into a canopy of autumn colours, browns and reds, yellow and glowing orange, vibrant yet soothing. In the realm of the Silvan Elves in South Ithilien, winter was slower to come than in the lands of men through which Legolas had just travelled. Everywhere, elves were busying themselves with various tasks. There was an air of muted excitement, tinged with melancholy.  
  
The brothers didn't speak until they reached a secluded area, where a window in the leaves permitted a view of the valley below and in the distance, visible only to the far-sighted elves, of the city of Pelargir and its sea-port. There, Legolas told Fingalas about his journeys since they had parted company after King Elessar's funeral. A shadow passed over Fingalas' fair face, so like to that of his brother, when he heard about the skirmish in Thélming's village.  
  
"Ai," he sighed. "Although in my heart there is still love for this Middle-earth, I am looking forward to the day Círdan sends word that our ship is ready." Legolas nodded absent-mindedly, then roused himself from his thoughts. "How long?" he asked. "A week at most, I think," Fingalas replied. Then, after another silence, he looked at his brother with keen eyes.  
  
"You have not told me everything yet, gwanur," he said. Legolas smiled at the other elf's perceptiveness. "No, indeed." He paused for a moment, unsure of how to break the news. "We will have a passenger, Fingalas. Gimli will come with us."  
  
Fingalas took in a sharp breath. "A dwarf?" he asked incredulously. "How in the Valar's name ." Legolas regarded his brother evenly. "The Lady Galadriel has asked him to come," he said simply. Fingalas averted his gaze and studied the floor for a long moment. Then he looked up again, and to Legolas' surprise he laughed with genuine mirth.  
  
"I do not pretend to comprehend this, brother. Although I have come to know Gimli, and through knowing him have altered my perception of dwarves, I never understood the deep friendship between the two of you. But if the Lady of the Golden Woods holds him thus high in her esteem, there must be something very special about this short creature . If you insist, then, I will do my best to persuade our fellow elves that there is no harm in travelling with a dwarf, and make sure that they treat Master Gimli with all due respect!"  
  
Legolas looked at his brother in amazement, and then broke into a glad smile as a weight was lifted from his chest. "Hennaid, gwanur," he said warmly.  
The following week passed quickly. During Legolas' absence, the elves had been preparing diligently for their departure under Fingalas' guidance. Amidst the eager bustle, there were some sad faces as well, for though all who had chosen to remain behind for a while had known that that decision was but a postponement, they had grown fond of this land and the trees they had nursed back to health and vigour. Legolas in particular felt bound to Middle-earth more than any of his fellow elves, for he had formed deep and long-lasting friendships with members of other races - men, dwarves, and hobbits.  
  
Hobbits. Legolas smiled fondly at the memory. Hobbits and their love for food, drink, stories and laughter. And pipes. He shuddered slightly as he recalled those evil-smelling things the little people used to stick in their mouth and set afire, inhaling the smoke. But then, so did Aragorn. And Gandalf. For a fleeting moment, Legolas wondered whether Gandalf smoked his pipe even in the Undying Lands. For some reason he could not explain, the image seemed incongruous.  
  
A rustle of leaves behind him made him turn. Rúmil had entered the chamber. "Everything is ready, híril nîn," the younger elf said respectfully. Legolas nodded and followed him out into the cold morning. It was a small group awaiting him. Counting himself and Fingalas, there were no more than fifty elves, waiting for him to take the lead. His eyes swept across them, and then across the countryside around them, beautiful in the pale glow of a cold sun. Legolas heaved a deep sigh. Then he squared his shoulders, and some of his old cheerfulness crept back into his voice.  
  
"Winter is nearly here. Let us go and find the Sun." And with that, he started to walk down the hill, leading his people on the one-day march to Pelargir and beyond that, to new shores.  
King Eldarion had been true to his word. Upon Híthlain's riderless return, he had asked Beriar to make ready his own horse, Aran, and a pony for the dwarf, and to assemble a small group of guards to accompany them. They had set out the very next day and reached Pelargir four days later, for they had travelled at a leisurely pace.  
  
When they arrived at the harbour, it was grey and misty; the air seemed to claw at them with clammy fingers. It was still early in the morning, and the sun was unlikely to break through the clouds that day.  
  
Gimli peered through the fog. "Where in Durin's name is that confounded elf and his ship?" he grumbled.  
  
The king smiled at this display of impatience; he suspected that there was quite a bit of anxiety hiding behind it, although the dwarf would never have admitted this. "Look closely, Master Gimli," he replied. "Can't you see the glow?"  
  
The dwarf strained his old eyes. At that moment, a gust of wind blew the fog apart, and the riders gasped in amazement and delight. Right in front of them, no more than thirty feet away, loomed the prow of a beautiful ship. It was made of a grey wood that seemed to shimmer, and the railings were covered in Elvish runes. Tall rose the mast, its top disappearing in the mist. A beautifully wrought green leaf adorned the huge white sail that was billowing in the light breeze.  
  
A merry voice floated down to the little group staring in wonder at this most impressive vessel. "Well, at last, Master Dwarf," it chuckled. "I was about to set sail without you." Gimli strained to see the owner of the voice, although he knew very well who it was.  
  
"Come and show yourself, you elusive elf!" he shouted, drawing a laughter from men and elves alike. In reply, a rope thudded to the ground near them, and a lithe figure climbed nimbly down from the ship, landing noiselessly on the ground.  
  
"At your service, Lord Gimli," Legolas said with a grin and a mocking bow. The dwarf grunted and with his friend's help heaved his heavy frame down from his pony. The king and his men also dismounted. Fingalas appeared at his brother's side.  
  
"Welcome, Lord Gimli. It will be an honour to have you travel with us," he said earnestly. Gimli cast a suspicious look at Legolas, but both elves kept a perfectly straight face.  
  
King Eldarion watched this little exchange with an amused look. Then he turned to Legolas, and his face grew grave. "I wish you a speedy and safe journey," he said. "May the light of the Valar protect you, as you protected my mother on her last journey."  
  
Legolas raised his hand across his chest, bowing his head. Then he looked up again and opened his palm outward in a wide sweep. "My lord .." The elf hesitated, and the merriment vanished from his eyes for a moment, to reveal doubt and sorrow. Then he recovered. "I thank you. I will cherish the memory of the good that you and your father have brought to all the races of this Earth."  
  
Eldarion regarded him wistfully. "With you and your people, the last of the Firstborn will pass from Middle-earth." The king paused, as if to consider, but he could not seem to find the words to express what this meant to him. Finally he returned Legolas' gesture.  
  
"Fare well." He turned to the dwarf, who had stood by, feeling somewhat awkward. "Fare well, Gimli. I will ensure that the friendship between men and dwarves will endure." He smiled sadly. "I almost envy you, Master Dwarf, for you will see my great-grandmother whom I never beheld. And yet, for this journey you will need courage beyond the measure of any other mortal."  
  
Gimli shifted from one foot to the other, then glanced at the tall elf standing by his side. "Oh, I will be all right, my lord. I have a great friendship to steer me through this adventure," he said gruffly. Legolas looked down at the dwarf, moved. Then he brightened.  
  
"Enough flattery, friend Gimli," he laughed. "Let us not tarry any longer. I am eager to feel the breeze of the open sea on my face!"  
  
King Eldarion nodded and signalled his men to mount their horses as Legolas and his brother led Gimli up the ramp onto the ship. Although there was no change in the wind, the huge sails billowed, and the grey ship started to glide gracefully away from the pier. As the men watched the figures on board the ship become smaller and smaller, they heard snippets of a song floating across the water. But only the king understood the words the beautiful voice was singing.  
  
To the Sea, to the Sea! The white gulls are crying,  
  
The wind is blowing, and the white foam is flying.  
  
West, west away, the round sun is falling.  
  
Grey ship, grey ship, do you hear them calling,  
  
The voices of my people that have gone before me?  
  
I will leave, I will leave the woods that bore me;  
  
For our days are ending and our years failing.  
  
I will pass the wide waters gladly sailing.  
  
Long are the waves on the Last Shore falling,  
  
Sweet are the voices in the Lost Isle calling,  
  
In Eressëa, in Elvenhome that no man can discover,  
  
Where the leaves fall not: land of my people forever!  
[Note: The last song is taken almost in its entirety from "The Return of the King". I apologize to the Tolkien Estate for the minute change, and for one or two passages which bear a strange likeness to descriptions of places in the books. I also apologize to Legolas for probably poisoning him in chapter V with my choice of healing herbs.] 


	8. The Cry of the Seagull

No, there is no Chapter eight ... yet ... but elf and dwarf will reach the Blessed realm one day, and I may be back with a new story then ...  
  
The only reason I'm writing this is that I messed up the uploading of a revision of Chapter 1 and can't find out how to delete this ... So this is it, "Chapter 8". Sorry folks! 


End file.
